


SOMETHING WICKED. 14-btvs-ats-ucsl

by iskierka



Category: Angel The Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 13:20:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iskierka/pseuds/iskierka





	SOMETHING WICKED. 14-btvs-ats-ucsl

Something wicked  
by Briar  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Spoilers: Buffy S5  
Summary: Glorificus thinks about the Zeppo on the way  
home. Among other things. It's a long walk.

Distribution: All you have to do is ask.  
Ra.:PG-13  
Disclaimers: This majorly belongs to (well, legally)  
Joss Whedon, the WB, Kuzui, Sandollar, m.Enemy:Fox.  
Characters, place, etc. (excepting plot, mine. & exact  
verbage, etc. :)

Feedback: Yess! Yes!!! yES!! please?  
Notes:j/incase. cerberus, 3headed watchdog puppy,  
guarding underworld. (nobody leaves.)

~~~~~~~~~

 

She stalked on the pavement, newly-jacked stilletos  
thwapping with each forceful step. Crunch. She didn't  
look down when the heel broke. Took a whiff. Eww.  
Wolfsbane. The Majestic and Most Exalted Terror looked  
down at her dress, noting the shimmery remains of  
pulverized crusty glow-worm and pixie dust. Her  
gorgeous, Valentine card-inspired weekend purchase.  
The gloriously *new* red sheath-  
Now it wasn't worth the damn cleaning bill.

Glorificus sighed with mounting annoyance. It was a  
couple of couple of blocks yet 'till the apartment.  
Where were the minion morons when she was in desperate  
need for a lift?

Her little snack was wearing out. And she was thirsty.  
Of course, she'd drunk the snack's mochaccino, but  
she'd also eaten the untouched biscotti. Crumbs left  
in the throat. What was that he'd stuttered?

"Unh, uh. Um. I'm Jonathan. Did you need something?"

That little getting-into-Ben's skin had taken more  
than she'd bargained for. As well as the  
seeking-him-out-when-he-so-obviously-is-trying-not-to-be-found.  
Hmmph. 

One of these damn Third_Hunka_Cowchip_fromtheSun days,  
Little Brother. OOh. It really was time for a chunkier  
quickie.  
~~~~~~~~~

 

She glanced behind her at the overly narrow little  
street. //Even for this part of the 'burbs. Boonies of  
a Hellmouth 'burb.// At the nice, little trailer  
houses  
//-*Why* do they call them houses?-// lined up along  
the little street like nice, little shoddy breadboxes.  
That obese septagenarian had been just the thing. Of  
course, the old ticker couldn't handle. But at least  
she gave out a good oozy bang of energy-thoughtmeal  
before giving out. 

//Besides, already lots of meaningless human memories  
for the saggy, (shudder) wrinkly broad.// Surprisingly  
full of clarity. Or rather, had been. She stepped on a  
bed.

//How cute; she liked pansies.// Glory continued on  
her way.  
~~~~~~~~~

 

The Long Mile. The Home Stretch. Humans were a  
pathetic, useless lot of sniveling, wriggly pondscum  
letchers. Usually with poor fashion sense. Like that  
one, at the hospital lab. With the long, floppy  
haircut. Growing out of nasty, schtinky low  
self-esteem. She'd looked into his eyes while she'd  
rammed him with the steel bar. And the *stink* she  
could smell. Uggh. All over him. Recent, human sex.  
Repeatedly. The worst part of it all was amidst the  
splitsecond chaotic Arrgh of *everyone* in the room  
just freakin ganging up on HER_on her Beatific  
Omnipotence- was just the darndest yuck-all thing. On  
her body. In response. The female version of a raging  
hard-on.

"Grrr." She was barefoot now. Had been for about three  
blocks. //Oh, Glory, hon. Stop snarling.// Maybe she'd  
rip off his head the next time they'd meet. With her  
teeth. Or other parts. Or maybe not.

//It's not becoming. Especially for a god.// 

Definitely gonna use the pumice tonight. With the  
Lavender salts. So fine, then. If that's how they  
wanted to smack the chihuahua. 

Cowering, crouching spaniel? Hell, no. More like  
hidden, pissed-off Cerberus. She could play hard ball,  
if need be. Time to drop the kid gloves. Humans and  
their stupid metaphors. Limited and inferior, their  
capacity for language. Much like everything else. All  
insects, anyhow. Ants. 

She looked at the blackout-darkened two-story house.  
This street and the next. At least the Sunnydale  
generators kept every other streetlight on. Stubborn,  
pesky losers. Fine. New Plan. Hmm.

Glory paused for a sec, and stood. She sniffed the air  
with her eyelashes. It had been hot the last three  
days, a quickie summer break of sorts from  
California's strangely chilly 2001 winter in the 40's.

Forecast for the morrow. Looks like rain. She smiled  
with perfect teeth. Something was already brewing.

 

fin~


End file.
